The Portland daily press., 1887-09-19
CONCERNING Books.
BY L. CAyAzzA.

CONCERNING BOOKS.
BYE cAvAzzA.
In Underwoods, the recently published
volume of verse by Robert Louis Stevenson,
distinct new voice is heard, somewhat lin
| tied in range but fresh and telling amid the
chorus Of English song. His blank verse
that delicate test Of poets powers--is pre-
| cisely where Mr. Stevenson's thought ap-
pears to find its most free and rich express
sion, and it abounds in cadences nobly har-
monious and often Of rare and classic grace.
In shorter measures is frequently to be noted
quality of expression which seems perhaps
less initiated than inherited from the century
of Herrick and MARVEL; and again, similar
measures are handled with imaginative
breadth, and more modern phrasing.
Throughout the volume is constantly to be
admired practical and manly philosophy
without trace Of the morbid and false pes
simism, too greatly now in fashion. Mr..
Stevenson recalls with pride that he comes
of family who have built strong sea-towers
and set therein lights of guidance and warn
ing to sea-farers; whose task it has been to
give help, solid and available, to the world
In which they lived. And Of this brave race
he proves himself not unworthy son. No
tower above the breakers was ever built Of
sterner stone or flashed cut q more benef-
cent, terrible light than the moral of the
Strange Case of DR.. Jekyll and Mr.. Hyde.
Continually, in his verse as in his prose,
Mr., Stevenson incites to action; he would
have every man seek, with generous Joy of
effort to repay some part of the debt owed,
since the day of birth. to the world and to
its Maker. And this virile energy and force
OF mind appear pathetic, yet still more hon
orable, in view of the dedication Of Under
woods to various physicians who have as
sisted the poet during Hines ses which, for
many man, would have been the excuse
from work and responsibilities. He ex-
claims:
. For thy life
Up spirit, and defend thy fort of clay
Thy body, now beleaguered
Contend my soul, for moments and for hours;
Each is with service pregnant; each reclaimed
Is as Kingdom conquered, where TO reign.
And he passionately prays that. by joy or by
grief, his heart may be enforced not to fail
lin the great task of happiness"
Tn. beauty of Mr. Stsx0nsons's l, aiv verse
His choice of metres Is not much varied;
and his music Is more dependent, one may
say, upon harmony than upon melody. Ex-
quis lite perception Of the value Of words, and
of the delicate assonances that charm the
ear and the mind, characterizes his lighter
verse, and assists the strong and pic
turesque imagery, not easily forgotten, of
such poems as that beginning
sit and walt pair OF oars
On cs-Elysian river-shores
Where the immortal dead have safe
IT'S mine TO sit and mediate.
And there is a haunting power, akin to
that Of the dirges of the early English
dramatists, in the Requiem of one who
would have men write of him:
Here he lies where he longs to be;
Home Is the sailor, home from the sea
And the hunter home from the hill.
Students of verse will note how simple, but
how perfect is the music that echoes the
thought in these lines Still stronger is the
large fancy Of the poem which portrays a
woman's nature akin to
Dew, frost and mountains, fire and seas
Tumultuary silences,
Winds that in darkness ffed tune,
And the high-rding, virgin moon.
be found more nobly sonorous phrases than
these with which Mr.. Stevenson begins his
tribute to his father:
Peace and her huge invasion to these shores
PutS daily home; innumerable sails
Dawn in the far horizon and draw near;
lnnumerable loves, uncounted hopes
N No our na wiz coasts not d t now approach
And bright on the lone isle the f0undered reef
The long, resounding foreland, Pharos stands.
There is nothing finer in the volume than
this poem, which is sustained at its heroic
high pitch to the end.
To indicate the varied resources of Mr.
Stevenson's flexible blank verse, may be cit
ed the slower melody that runs through deli
cate modulations in his Et tu in Arcadia
Uiristi.
So thee undying Hope
With all her pack, hunts screaming through the
Here, there. thou fieest; but nor here nor there
The pleasant gods abide, the glory dwells.
That that was not Apollo not the god
This was not Venus. though she Venus seemed
A moment And though fair yen river move,
she, all the way, from discnchanted f0unt
To seas unhall0wed runs; the gods forsook
Long since her trembling rushes from her plains.
Disconsolate, long since adventure fled.
Here and again, in Mr.. Stevenson's verse.
though not so frequently as in his prose, is |
noted an affectation-or il the word be too |
strong, at least deliberate choice-of over |
sharp and terse phrases. The lines are clear |
cut as those of an etching; but are, like |
them, bitten in with acid. For example, in |
the lines entitled A Portrait, appears the |
grotesque and corrosive touch that so lively |
limned the evil masque OF Edward Hyde;
t. foJA t. 1.
ton upon mans frail tenure of his body and |
his house. To continue the parallel Of Mr.. |
Stevenson's verse with graphic art it may |
be observed how curiously independent his /
pictures are Of color. He rarely mentions /
the green of LEAKAGE or Of grass, less infre-
quently the blue Of the air of morning, noon
or night. Blue, in fact, he sometimes uses |
where another artist might translate the i'm
preston with different pigment. Purple |
and red ana the shades that deepen from pal
lor of wheat to orange color, are neglected by
his pencil. The adjective rosy, in the one
instance where it occurs in this volume, APP
pears to mean Astounding in roses, rose plant
ed while golden is, with him, term more
hgurative Of value or of brilliance than Of
definite color.
Inc hrst portion Of the volume, that which |
Is written in English, closes with its keynote
Oh Indictment to work before the dying sun
orlng darkness. In regard to the second part
OIL the book, written in Scots-it must frank
~ be admitted that it is difficult for a reader
to whom this is foreign language to appre-
clate thoroughly its homely charm, which to
those persons born and bred to it is "dear
as the peat reek"-but 1t may safely be
credited that Mr.. Stevenson has used we'll
the language that he loves and in manner
not unworthy of one of the most thoughtful.
individual, and finely equipped minds of
modern literature. (New York: Charles